


I Need You, I Don't Need You

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Background Techienician, Breakups, Car Sex, College AU, Crying, M/M, Power Play, Revenge Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: After getting dumped by his boyfriend, college student Armitage decides to go find a new guy to conquer in order to make himself feel better. The guy he finds, though, is nothing like what he expects.





	I Need You, I Don't Need You

What exactly motivates a person to break up with their partner in public? Is it that they’re afraid that they or the other person will cry or get angry, and that the social pressure from the folks around them will hold them together, like grabbing a sand castle to keep it from collapsing as the tide rushes in? Is it to tether the bad memory to a spot that they can easily avoid?

It’s a good thing Armitage took his tea in a ceramic cup instead of a paper one, or else he might have dug his fingers all the way through it, tense and bitter, listening in perfect silence. Around them, baristas are refilling the espresso machines with beans, and children are demanding cheese danishes. These things might as well be happening in a movie, or on another planet.

“I just wanted to be honest with you, Armitage,” Markus is saying. He’s got a donut in front of him, the Homer Simpson kind with pink icing, but he hasn’t taken a bite of it yet. “There’s a difference between bad and incompatible and I just -- the more time I spend with Jack, the more I realized…”

The story that Markus has told him is that he has fallen in love with a guy in his upper biology classes. They haven’t done anything, he says, and Armitage believes that, but Markus wants to break up so he can be free to be with Jack.

“I’m not a cheater,” Markus says emphatically, not looking at Armitage but at the donut, poking it with his finger. As if this is some great bar to clear, to not cheat on someone. “I wouldn’t do something like that to you. You know? I just wanted to do this -- the right way.”

Armitage steels himself further. His face is entirely still except for the tiny spasm in his upper lip that comes out when he’s upset, his only tell. This is not what he expected to happen when Markus invited him out to ‘have a chat’. Markus had invited him by text, so there was no tone to betray the actual purpose of the meeting, and thus no warning, nothing to help Armitage prepare. Everything has been fine, he had thought right up until now. Not amazing or anything but -- fine.

“You’re taking it awfully well,” Markus continues, and his tone has shifted. It’s not snide, exactly, but he sounds almost frustrated that Armitage isn’t reacting the way he wants. But what does he want? A single tear, a thank-you note for not cheating on him, a blessing to run into someone else’s arms? It occurs to Armitage that maybe he doesn’t know the guy he’s been dating for almost a year very well at all.

“Were you hoping for a meltdown?” Armitage asks curtly.

Markus pulls a sigh. “Okay, so this is what I’m talking about with like--the compatibility. You don’t want anyone to see you as anything except cunning and victorious and like, on top of things. You’re probably not even going to react to this for real until you put it on your calendar.”

“Well, now we’re getting to the heart of what you really think of me.”

“Armie, there’s--a lot of great stuff about you. Really. But spending time with someone else just opened my eyes to the fact that you…” Markus trails off, still not looking up from the donut, like if he looks at it, the right thing to say will be written there among the sprinkles.

Armitage lets the silence ripen to just the right shade of uncomfortable before asking, “I’m what?”

“You’re not very much fun. You’re not -- I don’t know. Spontaneous. You don’t do anything for the pleasure of it, it seems like, and you can be really cold...”

What could he say to that? “If you say so,” he finally responds, taking a sip of his tea. Trying to maintain his poise. Fuck it, Markus was one hundred percent right about _that_. Nobody in this cafe was going to see him crumble.

“Armie.”

Markus has turned up his eyes at last, but Armitage decides he doesn’t want to be looked at. “Then have _fun_ with Jack, I suppose,” he says, downing the rest of his tea in one too-hot go, and grabbing his messenger bag with his other hand. He stands and heads for the door, rubbing his burnt tongue against the back of his teeth, glancing back just once. Markus is still sitting there and he has the decency to look like he feels bad, but how bad could he possibly feel, now that he’s free and Armitage is burdened?

* * *

Armitage is all too familiar with Last Man Standing, the bar that is just steps off campus -- stumble out of it after a few too many and you’ll be sprawled in the hedges that are planted around the Science & Engineering building before you know it. Not that Armitage knows that from experience or anything. On Thursdays and Fridays, the place gets, in the words of Armitage’s twin brother Techie, buckwild. But Saturdays are always reserved for open mic night, and it is a little bit milder, a softer crowd, people who want to listen to music and flirt. Techie goes almost every Saturday with his own boyfriend, not to perform but just because they like the place and they like hearing other people sing. Listening to someone almost competently cover “More Than Words” over a few overpriced beers isn’t usually Armitage’s thing, but he lets Techie talk him into going the day after Markus dumped him.

“You’re really asking me to third-wheel you and Matt the day after I get broken up with?” Armitage asks on Saturday morning.

“Matt’s out of town, he’s going to a wedding,” Techie answers. They’re in Armitage’s on-campus apartment, a ridiculously small space, a studio with a scenic view of a parking lot. Armitage had hoped that his pride would have recovered by now, but it hasn’t. He’s in overthinking mode now, and it is eating up his capacity to do anything else at all. It’s one in the afternoon and he’s still in bed, bundled up like a mummy in his cozy clothes, while Techie sits on the edge of his mattress and peels an orange that he stole out of Armitage’s fridge. “Maybe it’ll like, take your mind off things…”

Markus never went to Last Man Standing at any point that Armitage was aware of, so it seems unlikely they will run into him there. “Maybe,” Armitage allows. “Don’t let that orange get my stuff sticky, okay?”

Techie has managed to pull off the entire peel in one single piece, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself for accomplishing this little feat. “Yeah, okay, I’ll get a napkin. Are you coming?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Will you buy me a second one?”

“And a third.” Techie’s found the glass cleaner wipes in Armitage’s desk drawer so he can un-stickify his hands later, and he sets them on his lap as he breaks the orange into sections. That’s not really what those wipes are for, but Armitage doesn’t have the energy to argue about it right now. “Listen, there are always a ton of good-looking guys at Last Man. That’s where I met Matt, you know.”

“Is that so?” Techie has been with his boyfriend since like, their first week of freshman year. They’ve been so established for so long that Armitage has never really stopped to think about how they actually got together. It’s just always been that way.

Armitage rolls, forces himself to sit up. In his olive-green hoodie that reads ARMY across the chest and his Jurassic Park logo-printed pajama pants, he feels like the epitome of a bum, but the idea of cleaning the hell up and going out tonight and maybe being seen as sexy by some stranger is beginning to grow on him.

“Yeah,” Techie tells him, offering him an orange slice. Armitage declines. “But like, you don’t have to find your soul mate or whatever.”

“We can’t all be you, locking eyes with a stranger at a bar and falling in love at first sight and then moving in together and watching Seinfeld all the time.”

“I like being boring and domestic,” Techie responds. “But sometimes anonymous sex can be like, thrilling.”

“Yeah? And you know that how?”

“Shut up,” Techie says, spraying Armitage in orange juice as he speaks. “You can make fun of me all you want now, but like...don’t you want to have an experience like that?”

Something flickers in Armitage’s head. Something vicious and bright and _proud_. It isn’t like Armitage has been a total goody two-shoes since he started college. The folks working at Last Man Standing could attest to that, as could the pair of shoes he’d had to throw away because they were tequila-vomit stained beyond rescuing. But he’s about to graduate and he has never really _hooked up_ with anyone. Wasn’t he good-looking enough to seduce a stranger? He’d never know until he tried. A little spontaneity, yes, he could manage that, no matter what Markus had to say.

“So what do you plan to do while I’m off fucking a stranger?” Armitage asks, watching Techie munch on the last orange piece.

“Listen to music. Eat appetizers. Field a million texts from Matt because he worries about me.”

“Isn’t that nice. Having a boyfriend who worries about you.”

“What, you want me to share? No thanks.” Techie opens that package of glass cleaner wipes that has been sitting in his lap and cleans his hands with them. “But it might not be a bad idea for you to look for someone with some muscle on him, actually. It’s like-changing to get with someone who can like, pick you up. In the literal sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Techie promises.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding anyone like that at Last Man.”

“That’s the spirit. All those frat guys, you know?”

Frat guys normally do nothing for Armitage. They are loud, and messy, and dumb. The only exception is Matt, who belongs to Sigma Phi Delta and is still loud and messy, with a voice like a lowing bull and a temper that luckily only comes out when anyone upsets Techie. Unlike his brother, who has always been attracted to big tough guys, Armitage has always preferred the kind of guys that he could match with intellectually -- Armitage, if he’s being honest, has always tried dating himself, or as close of a version of himself as he could find. It’s not working. It’s time to surrender to the brutish charm of Techie’s type.

“Do they normally come to open mic night?” Armitage wants to know.

“You bet they do. They’re on the lookout, you know, for unattached people hanging out, and they can be like, oh, I love this song, oh, let me buy you a drink…”

“How romantic. Is that what Matt did?”

“That’s exactly what he did.”

“Think it’ll work in reverse?”

Techie grins. “I have a good feeling.”

* * *

Hopefully at some point, the music will pick up a little bit, become more fun and flirty. Right now, the girl who’s got the guitar onstage right now is pretty much sticking with dirges. Lana del Rey’s “Young and Beautiful”, Joan Baez’s “I Will Never Marry”, all of which would have been a lot more helpful twenty-four hours ago, while he was still knee-deep in moping. The girl’s got a gorgeous voice, no doubt about that, but she’s killing his buzz.

Still, Techie wasn’t wrong about the number of stacked guys who are willing to sit among the hipsters and musicians in order to find someone to chat up. _Is there some kind of understanding here?_ Armitage wonders. _Is this what Saturday nights at Last Man are like and I just never noticed?_ Techie orders their beers and brings them to the table, his hair pulled back into a messy bun and his eyes roving, seemingly on the search for something else to bring to his brother.

Armitage is looking too. Currently his gaze keeps returning to a tall, broad guy who appears to be sitting alone, not far from the stage, his tumbler full of something that’s not beer but that’s all Armitage can tell from this distance. He is pleasantly the opposite of Markus in nearly every way. Unlike his small, slender, blonde ex, who has spent far more time in the science lab than the gym, this guy is _built_. Maybe even more than Matt, though it’s hard to tell, since Matt tends to slouch, and this guy sits at the table straight and careful. His dark hair falls in waves around his face, and a pointed onyx stone hangs from his neck. Even in the dim light, it’s easy to see it against his white shirt. The sleeves of the red flannel he wears are pushed up to show his forearms, and there are tattoos on both, though, like the drink, Armitage can’t see what they are. When he and Armitage make eye contact, Armitage steels himself, deciding as he raises his beer to his lips that he will not be the first to look away.  
He is not.

There’s a smattering of applause as the girl on stage finishes her tune, and then she announces she’s playing one more song. She thanks Last Man Standing for giving her the chance to play, and then begins a mournful, tender version of Leonard Cohen’s “Chelsea Hotel No. 2”. Hardly a tune to get the blood pumping south, but it has an effect that Armitage rather likes -- the bar now feels a little more mysterious and erotic, despite the eerie sadness of the tune, like something out of a movie. When he looks from the corner of his eye, he can tell that the broad-shouldered guy in flannel is watching him, still.

“Him?” Techie wants to know, pointing with his eyes. Armitage nods, taking a long careless sip of his beer. “He’s _cute_.”

“I was thinking a different adjective.”

“Mm,” Techie answers, and it is a knowing sound. “Will you go talk to him?”

That devilish pride pours its way up Armitage’s throat, comes out of his mouth in his voice, surprising him: “He’ll come talk to me.”

Techie’s eyes sparkle. “Then _maybe_ I should conveniently go to the bathroom.”

“You’re _maybe_ the best person on the planet, you know that?”

That makes Techie laugh. “Obviously I know that. I’m so great that I might even eat some chicken wings at the bar. So you’re all alone for awhile.”

Whether Armitage has spoken his destiny into existence or he is simply good at reading the room, he ends up being right on the money. Techie’s seat is still warm when the guy he’s made eye contact with comes and sits in it, not quite next to him but not quite across from him either, his mostly-empty glass held in an oddly delicate way in such a large paw of a hand. He seems pleased with his own boldness, coming and approaching Armitage so directly. Armitage smiles, waits for him to be the first to say something. This, too, doesn’t take long.

“I hope your friend doesn’t mind me stealing his seat for a moment.”

“The lighting must be pretty bad from where you were sitting,” Armitage laughs, meeting the stranger’s eyes once more. “When you see us together, you’ll know we’re twins.”

“Twins, huh? Two of a kind?”

The stranger’s eyes are so dark and rich, Armitage nearly forgets to answer for a moment. But no. He doesn’t want to lose control of the situation, not so early on. “Oh, it’s not so hard to tell us apart,” Armitage replies. “He’s the artist, I’m the scientist. He’s messy, I’m neat. He’s off the market, and I…” Armitage slows his little monologue just long enough to see if the look in this guy’s eyes changes at all, and it does, just a bit. He is _expectant_. “Am not.”

“For sale for the highest bidder, huh?”

“You could say that. Though I get more satisfaction out of making the purchases myself. On that note, are you ready for another drink?”

The guy, yes, he’s totally taken aback now, though it’s only intrigued him more. Clearly he thought he was going to be wooing some wilting twink that would fall into his arms, and instead he’s dealing with an apprentice sugar daddy testing out his craft in a college bar. He clears his throat for a moment, and the bar erupts into applause for the singer, who has finished up with her set. Once the din lowers, the stranger answers, “You’re buying?”

“What’s your poison?”

“Vodka cranberry.” He rattles the ice in the glass. “I won’t say no.”

Armitage skips a second beer and gets vodka cranberries for them both. It’s not until he gets back to the table that he remembers they’re on Techie’s tab -- the bartender must have mistaken him for his brother. Oh, well. Hopefully this guy won’t hit him up for too many rounds.

“So you’re here by yourself?” Armitage asks. No need to waste any more of Techie’s money if this isn’t going to work out.

“Yeah,” the guy admits. He seems a little bit sheepish about it. When he reaches to take the glass, Armitage can see those tattoos much better. One arm sports the planets, all in a line, the other is a cluster of stars. “A friend of mine was going to perform tonight, and then I got here and found out she was bailing, she had a sore throat, but I already came all the way out. I figured I’d have a few drinks and maybe meet someone new to talk to.” He smiles crookedly. “And, uh. Mission accomplished, I guess.”

“It’d seem so, huh.” Armitage taps his own glass gently against his companion’s. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

After they drink, the stranger finally asks for Armitage’s name.

“Tidge.” Armitage decides that he does not want this guy calling him _Armie_ , especially if they are to fuck at some point soon. Armie was always the name Markus called him, and Armitage is not interested in hearing it right now.

“Tidge,” the guy repeats. “I’m Ren.” He takes another sip of the vodka cranberry, offers another smile. “Thanks, by the way. I’m not used to having drinks bought for me.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Why’s that?”

Time to put all of the cards on the table. “Because you’re gorgeous,” Armitage says, point-blank, watching him closely, waiting to see how he reacts. Sure enough, Ren continues to be startled by the things Armitage says. His lips curl into a shape that is not quite an ‘oh’, but approaching it.

“You’re something else,” Ren says, and then he scoots his chair closer so that they’re next to each other proper. “You’re like -- you have a way with words, and you just fucking say what you’re thinking. And you’re gorgeous too, you know?”

Again, the words come from Armitage’s mouth without his permission, without him thinking about it. “Oh, I know.”

It is a gamble. Markus would have frowned, scoffed, rolled his eyes. Ren just laughs, like this is an inside joke they have had together for a long time. “Yeah, how couldn’t you.” Not phrased as a question. Armitage does not fail to notice that he finishes the vodka cranberry before asking his next questions, as if he needs the extra dose of courage. “Is your brother coming back anytime soon?”

“I think he has more important things to worry about.” In the tone he’s said it, he’s making it sound like Techie is prowling for dick instead of eating BBQ wings and sending Matt snapchat selfies with the dog filter.

Regardless, it suits Ren just fine. “Are you going to buy me another drink?” he wants to know.

“It sounds like you’re hoping for a bribe.”

“I don’t need to be bribed, but it doesn’t hurt to see what you’re willing to do to get me.” His eyes flick down to his empty glass, then back up to meet Armitage’s. He is antsy, and Armitage allows himself to fantasize that Ren is trying to restrain himself from bending Armitage over the table right there.

“And what do you think I’m trying to bribe you into doing?”

Ren scoots nearer again, resting one elbow on the table and letting his other hand hover lightly on Armitage’s back, pressing his advantage. “Something like this?” he wants to know as he closes the distance between them, and Armitage can’t help but reach for his lapels and pull him even closer so the kiss will come even more quickly. Mood music or lack thereof be damned, his veins feel like they’re full of fire and god, Ren’s mouth is so wet and hungry and his hands are so big, Armitage can feel the one on his back holding him much more tightly now -- it’s hard to say, in that moment, which of them is more possessive.

The next singer takes the stage.

“Do you want me?” Armitage asks, very low, but right in Ren’s ear so there’s no way he will not be understood.

“Yes,” Ren says. It will be so easy, Armitage realizes, to lead him like a lost lamb. It will be so satisfying, too.

Armitage’s hand moves down Ren’s chest, down to the pointed onyx, and he rolls it between his forefinger and thumb. “Do you think I want you too?” A petulant question, a question meant only to inflate his ego a little bit, but that’s the entire point of this outing, isn’t it? He wants to hear Ren _say_ it.

“Jesus, Tidge, I hope so.”

Armitage smiles at that. “Will you still need bribing if I tell you I want to go somewhere private?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, then.” Armitage releases his hold and quickly rises, practically looming. Ren is taller than he his, but Armitage finds that he likes the way Ren looks when he’s physically below him, looking up through his eyelashes. He reminds Armitage of a tame bear, or the first wolf to be domesticated. There is no question in Armitage’s mind that if they were to get into a fight, Ren could punt him like a football. But he’s tipsy on the intensity of Armitage’s attention just as much as the vodka cranberries. He has offered himself up. “In that case. I want to go somewhere private.”

* * *

The sound of the current performer covering Tom Petty’s “Refugee” fades away as the door to Last Man Standing shuts behind Armitage and Ren. It is now replaced with the sounds of the street of a college town on a Saturday night -- cars bumping hip-hop music, the clack of high heels and the honking of horns. A gaggle of painfully drunk girls loiters outside of the nearby Subway, scream-laughing at one of them pretending to give her sandwich a blowjob. Ren’s hand remains possessively on the small of Armitage’s back as they walk, even though Armitage is leading the way. Techie may have driven here, but they took Armitage’s car for this very reason. “I’m a generous man,” Techie had told him earlier in the day. “But I’m not generous enough to let you fuck in my car.” It was hard to argue with that.

Armitage’s car is parked in a conveniently dark corner of the little parking garage at the end of the block, heading away from campus. He stashed away everything he thought he might need in the pocket of the backseat earlier that day, like some kind of perverse Uber driver hoping for a five-star rating -- condoms, lube, wipes. As they approach the secluded spot, Armitage wonders if Ren will fit comfortably back there, but he pushes the thought from his mind. They’ll make it work. He opens the back door and extends his hand invitingly as a cartoon chauffeur. “After you.”

The parking garage is empty, and the darkness would be unsettling if both of them weren’t so focused on one another, blood buzzing.

“You really want to fuck me,” Ren says, after the door is pulled shut, the slam echoing around them. Armitage can’t quite tell if it’s a question or not this time.

“We’ve established that. And I brought you here.”

“I’m--no one’s after gone after me this way. That’s all.” He spreads his legs a bit, assuringly, as Armitage pours himself into his lap. He shrugs off the red flannel and then pulls free his undershirt, leaving only the onyx stone against his bare chest. This, this is a picture that Armitage quite likes. “Nobody’s ever looked at me and been like -- him. I want him.” Perhaps to cover up for this particular display of vulnerability, he kisses Armitage’s neck with a sudden ferocity, making Armitage gasp with the force of it.

“Well, I do,” Armitage hisses, both comforting and controlling. He can’t decide what he likes better. He and Ren are both in jeans, but he’s aching-hard, and doesn’t feel like waiting for Ren to get around to unzipping him. He guides Ren’s hand to his fly, and Ren takes care of the rest. “I knew you’d be mine the second I saw you, you know that?”

Ren’s breath is coming fast and ragged, and it takes him a long time before he gulps and answers.

“Fuck,” he says, his forehead pressed to Armitage’s collarbone. “Tidge, yes--”

“I like that. I like when you swear.”

“Fuck!” Ren repeats, more emphatic, and Armitage’s head nearly knocks into the ceiling of the cab as Ren bucks upward, to try and get his own jeans off, to yank at Armitage’s own black t-shirt, he’s a flurry of pulling and grabbing. “Tidge, fuck, yes, _yours_ \--”

His. Armitage is suddenly giddy with the idea of being extraordinarily cruel to this near-stranger, for no reason except to bleed out that weekend’s venom. He could chew up the poor boy like a wad of gum and leave him spat out, used, on the pavement. Ren wouldn’t know what hit him. While he’s not so reckless that he’d go bareback with a person he’d just met, he sort of doesn’t care if the experience is painful for either of them. In a way, he already feels like he’s won, won something that Markus has lost, and even though Markus won’t ever know, the feeling is there. “I’m going to get a condom on you,” Armitage says, and the arrogance in his own tone has somehow made him even harder. “And then you’re going to fuck me exactly how I like, within an inch of my life. That’s exactly what I came to this bar for and I’m going to get it.”

Ren nods wildly, his hair falling all in his face. In this light, he’s barely visible, but Armitage can see the faint gleam in his eyes from the streetlights outside the parking garage. He can still see the thick pink curve of Ren’s lips, and he wants that mouth on him, _everywhere_. Quickly, Armitage reaches for the backseat pocket and grabs one condom and one foil of lube, and if Ren notices how quickly and how expertly he has prepared for exactly this scenario, he clearly doesn’t mind. He might even see it as flattery, like he seems to have been this entire experience. To him, Armitage is an expert hunter searching for a 12-point buck, and it is a compliment to be considered a prize.

Armitage presses the packet of lube into Ren’s hand. “You know what to do with this, right?”

“What, you think I’m a virgin?” Ren sounds amused.

“Prove me wrong,” Armitage responds, grinning.

Ren needs no further provocation than this. He tears at the packet with his teeth, carefully enough that he does not get to accidentally enjoy the fakey-strawberry flavor of it, and preps Armitage with his fingers in a way that very purposefully lets him know this isn’t his first attempt at such a task. He is Techie’s prophecy fulfilled; he is strong enough to arrange Armitage in his lap in a way that suits them both so that Armitage can ride him. He swears loudly, lustily, the onyx stone bouncing between his pecs, and his hands tighten against Armitage’s hips, holding him in place as he grinds upwards, earnest and ferocious. It’s hard to tell if he normally says ‘fuck’ this often, with such desperation, or if he’s just doing it because Armitage says he likes it. It sure sounds genuine.

Armitage has his hands on Ren’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the tight muscled flesh, holding on for dear life, hoping to leave bruises among the freckles and moles. “That’s right, just like that -- Ren, harder, _harder_ , don’t fucking stop until I say so--”

And he does, god, as if it is truly a delight for him to do precisely as Armitage says, he takes things up just a notch at a time, just making sure that Armitage isn’t about to shout _stop_ and be angry at him for going too far. One arm -- the one with the cluster of stars tattooed on it -- reaches up, and he clutches at Armitage’s hair, pulls, adding just the right sparkle of pain to Armitage’s pleasure. It takes no time at all for Armitage’s commands to blur and melt into wordless cries.

He comes and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

“Christ, Tidge, you’re--wow.” Ren gives a soft laugh as Armitage finally untenses and buries his face in Ren’s burning-hot shoulder. When Ren runs his fingers through Armitage’s hair, something strange and sad and nostalgic blooms in Armitage’s stomach, a feeling he was absolutely not expecting tonight. It’s like he’s hungover after getting drunk on the feeling of controlling Ren, getting everything he wanted out of him, and he realizes he very much expected Ren to be disgusted with him once they were finished. Instead, Ren seems tender, sparkling, without regrets. He is like one of those expensive mattresses you can try out at the mall, with the remote control that lets you adjust it to your exact needs. Armitage could lie against him and sleep away the recklessness that possessed him to drag a random guy to his car for rough sex.

He feels his eyes begin to burn with the tears that have materialized as he allows himself to imagine seeing Ren again.

_Ren doesn’t even know you, he’ll see the same things that Markus saw in you…_

But it feels so good right here, even though the car is miserably stuffy now thanks to their body heat, even though they’re both slick and filthy like creatures dredged up from a bog. Armitage lies there as long as he dares with his eyes screwed shut to keep the tears in, hardly breathing because he knows how shaky it will sound if he inhales. He waits for Ren to prove himself a brute, to shove him off his lap so he can get dressed.

Instead, Ren gently combs his fingers through Armitage’s hair again.

“God, your hair. Even in the dark, it’s stunning.”

For some reason, hearing this, soft, in Ren’s exquisite low voice, this flips a horrible switch in Armitage’s head. The tears that he has been holding back can’t be contained any longer, and he does exactly what he was trying not to do. He lets out a sob that would be loud even if they weren’t so close, that is loud despite the fact he is hiding his face. This plan had seemed so good this morning. Go out and conquer. Now all he can feel is regret. Why did he put himself through this? Didn’t know that the only thing that would come of hooking up with a stranger was feeling lonely again the moment they were gone?

Ren’s body stiffens when he hears that sound, and the change in his posture scares Armitage again, this must be it, this must be the moment that he makes his escape. It would almost be a relief for Ren to just bail. He could cry in peace and wait for Techie to come find him. His twin has watched him cry since the day they were born, it wouldn’t matter much if he saw it one more time. The sooner Ren gets out of the car, the sooner Armitage can just deal with how unwanted he feels, how tired trying to play the high and mighty seasoned lover makes him feel. But then Ren says, so quiet, so so quiet, “Hey, are you o--?” He stops. Clearly Armitage is not okay, and he switches tactics. “It’s all right. Hey, Tidge, did I hurt you, or--?”

Armitage shakes his head, but in their stickyclose embrace, it’s hard to tell what motion he’s making. “No,” he breathes, his voice wavering even on that single syllable. “No, you’re fine.”

Ren is very quiet for a long time. He makes no attempt to leave.

“Was it your hair?” he finally asks. “Like, was that the problem?”

“No.”

“Can I touch it again?”

“Yeah.”

It is softest when it is freshly washed, which it is now. Armitage knows it is one of his best assets. He usually gels it when he’s going out but never before he expects sex, and so it is the easiest thing in the world for Ren to stroke it adoringly, again and again, like they were lovers in another life.

“Sorry,” Armitage finally sniffs.

“Don’t be,” Ren says. He reaches for the wipes that Armitage has stuck in the backseat pocket, pulls one from the packet, and hands it to him. He takes another for himself. “Really, I need you to tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

“It isn’t that.”

Ren is smart enough to not ask what it is. “Maybe I’m not what you wanted?”

“It definitely isn’t that.” He manages a little laugh at that. “Christ, that’s....I was expecting you to be less….like this.”

“Like this?”

“Willing to give a fuck about a stranger.”

Ren gives him a long look, and it seems like he’s trying to read any flicker of intention on Armitage’s face, trying to find out what’s going on in his head. “There’s something about you, Tidge. The way you went after me, I knew.”

“What kind of something?” Tidge asks, trying to maintain as much grace as he can manage while both sniffling and wiping sweat from them both.

“I think maybe you could just tell what we had to offer each other.”

“What do you think I have to offer you?”

Ren smiles. “I think you _see_ me.”

He does not elaborate further on this, and Armitage sort of likes that. A choose-your-own meaning type of thing. Instead, Ren adds, “And if you’d like to see me again, well. You can. Unless you don’t want to.”

Armitage laughs again at that, and Ren reaches for his undershirt, pulls it back on in no particular hurry. He hands Armitage his own tee, too. “Isn’t there something you should give me?” he asks, though his voice is now too congested from the crying to sound properly teasing.

Without hesitating, Ren pulls the long onyx necklace up over his head and slips it onto Armitage’s. “Here,” he says. “You can have it.”

“Oh my _god_ , I meant your phone number,” Armitage says, not even trying to hide his disbelief. The stone is warm from sitting against Ren’s bare skin, and then from being pressed between the two of them. If Armitage cared enough to look, he would find the shape of it in his skin somewhere.

“Oh,” Ren says. He sets Armitage down gently on the seat beside him so he can hitch his pants and boxers back up around his waist, fish around for his phone. “Here, put yours in there and I’ll text you.” He sees Armitage trying to pull the necklace off before taking the phone, and stops him. “I already said you could have it.”

“You don’t need to….” Armitage protests, shimmying back into his own pants. The wipe didn’t get all of the sweat up, but it’s better than nothing, and he doesn’t feel quite so gross getting back into these clothes. Ren shrugs, and it is not in the passive-aggressive way that Armitage himself often shrugs when he is arguing with someone. He seems to genuinely not want the thing back.

“I don’t have any use for it,” Armitage tries again as he finds his way into the Contacts page of Ren’s phone. Ren’s background is also space-themed, which seems on-brand. It’s black with old-timey depictions of the twelve zodiac signs and their constellations.

“Sure you do. It’s onyx.”

Armitage hands back the phone. The statement means nothing to him. “And?”

“Gets rid of negative feelings and things like that. Everyone could use less of that.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

Ren stuffs his phone back in his pocket and suddenly leans in, so quick and fluid that Armitage hardly has time to process it before he’s being kissed. It’s soft, though, something offered rather than something taken. “I will text you, you know.”

“I’m counting on it,” Armitage whispers.

Finally, Ren exits the car, wishing Armitage a good night, and Armitage sits by himself in the backseat for a long time. The wave of loneliness he’s been dreading never comes; instead, all he feels is the tingle of anticipation for tomorrow, and then the next day, and the day after that. The onyx stone is still warm in his hand, as if it’s a living thing with a heartbeat of its own, and Armitage makes up his mind to wear it from now on, for the time being, anyway. He watches a cluster of girls, maybe the same ones from the Subway earlier, walk into the garage and pile into a nearby Civic. There are too many of them to really fit but they sit on each other’s laps and finally are able to shut the doors and drive away. Armitage stays where he is, lost in thought. Finally he finds his own phone and unlocks it. Two missed texts from his brother and one from an unsaved number.

Techie: _No rush, just tell me when you’re ready to head out. I’m closing the tab in a minute so hope you got your fill. If you need me I’m gonna be at the fountain down the block._

His second text was just a bunch of eggplant emojis.

The message from the unknown number was exactly what Armitage hoped it would be.

Unknown number: _It’s Ren. Thanks for the drinks. I hope I’ll see you next weekend. Your car is nice and everything but we could walk around downtown, too, and then maybe you could spend the night._

Armitage smiles, taps out a response without hesitating.

_I’d like that a lot._

At last he gets out of the car, stretches his legs in the dark corridor as he walks towards the entrance so he can go find Techie, the yellow light of the streetlamps gleaming against the onyx on his neck, the sounds of the college town rising up to meet him from the bars, the sky above cloudless and faint with a million stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow wow!! This has been such a wonderfully rewarding project, particularly because of hard work and lovely art of [ katherine1753 ](http://katherine1753.tumblr.com/). I'm so excited to share the fruit of our labors with all of y'all! 
> 
> The work title is from the song "Chelsea Hotel No. 2" by Leonard Cohen.


End file.
